Before continuing my narrative, I
wish to draw particular attention to a
circumstance which, so far as I know,
has been overlooked by every historian
of the Mutiny. This is the fact that
as I was at the time informed, the military
authorities, in view of the lengthening
days and the increasing heat of the
season, had caused, on May 10th, 1857,
the evening church parade to take place
half an hour later than formerly. In my
firm belief, this change saved us from an
awful catastrophe. In those days British
troops attended divine service
practically unarmed, for they did not
take with them their rifles or carbines
and ammunition. Their only weapons
were their side-arms. The mutineers
were, of course, unaware of this change.
They broke into revolt half an hour too
soon. Had they waited till the 60th
Rifles were securely gathered into the
church, what could have prevented them
from overpowering the small guards
over the rifles and the guns, and utterly
destroying the defenceless crowd of
soldiers penned, like sheep, within four
walls. Providence befriended us. When
the first scouts of the cavalry came galloping
down to the European lines,
they found the white soldiers falling into
their places on parade. Once the alarm
was given, all attempt at surprise was
out of the question, and the hope of
achieving an easy massacre was changed
into fear of the awful retribution which
they thought the European troops, now
on the alert, would not fail speedily to
exact. This fear altered all their plans,
and hastened their flight to Delhi, so
graphically described by Sir John Kaye;
but, alas! no swift retribution followed.
The European troops, 1,500 strong,
were paralysed by the irresolution of
their chief. Had the gallant Hearsey
or Sidney Cotton occupied Hewett's
place at Meerut, it is safe to say
that, in spite of the wings which fear
lent to the mutineers on their flight to
Delhi, few of them would ever have
reached that haven of their hopes. The
shrapnel of the artillery and the swords
of the Carabineers would have annihilated
them. It is true that Generals Hewett
and Archdale Wilson, late in the evening,
moved the troops over the open
plain of the infantry parade-ground and
that they caused a few rounds to be fired,
in the dark, at some belated stragglers of
the cavalry, which said rounds, by the
way, nearly killed an officer, Lieutenant
Galloway, of my regiment, who had taken
refuge in an out-house in the line of fire;
but General Hewett, instead of even then
detaching the Carabineers and a battery
of horse artillery in pursuit of the flying
mutineers, acted on the ill-starred advice
of his Brigadier to withdraw the whole
force to the European lines. No greater
mistake from any point of view was ever
committed.
There can be no doubt that the offer
of Captain Rosser, of the 6th Dragoon
Guards, to take a squadron and a couple
of guns in pursuit, was really made and
declined; for it was well known and
much discussed at the time. It is true
that intimation of this offer never reached
the Colonel Commanding the Regiment;
but it is equally certain that somebody
blundered in not taking immediate steps
to bring it to the notice of Colonel Custance.
The prompt punishment which
even such a small body could have inflicted
would have been of the utmost
value as a lesson both to the rebels and
to the faint-hearted among ourselves;
but the opportunity was wilfully thrown
away; and the magnificent brigade of
British troops of all arms, which afterwards
covered itself with glory at the
Hindun Nuddee, at Delhi, at Lucknow,
and wherever its members met the enemy,
was marched back to Meerut, and condemned
for a period to the humiliating
rôle of passive inaction.
Difficult as it is to understand, and
impossible to excuse the motives which
paralysed the nerves of General Hewett,
it can only be hoped that all our
officers have laid to heart the lesson
so frequently learned in the great
school of the Sepoy Mutiny that, in dealing
with an Oriental enemy, l'audace!
et toujours l'audace is not only the most
soldierlike but the surest road to success.
"Strike promptly and strike hard"
should be their motto. Over and over
again have small bodies of Englishmen,
under the most desperate circumstances,
and against the most fearful odds, by
acting on this maxim, "plucked the
flower safely from the nettle danger."
When the day comes, as come it will,
that we Englishmen will once more have
to fight for the preservation of our Indian
Empire, the issue will only be doubtful
if timid and irresolute counsels prevent
us from putting forth the whole of our
strength at the first serious symptoms of
internal disaffection or external menace.
During the next few days the Meerut
garrison lay inert. Far from undertaking
any distant reconnaisances or making
any active efforts to restore to quiet the
surrounding districts, not even was punishment
inflicted on the city or the bazars,
which had poured forth their swarms of
murderers and robbers on the night of
the 10th. A few individual marauders
were, it is true, caught and hanged; but
there retributive measures ceased. Native
houses, choked with plunder, were left
unsearched, and their occupants were
allowed unmolested to swagger about in
the sight of all men, and to boast among
themselves of the shame and havoc they
had wrought on the "Feringhi."
Our women and children and unarmed
civilian refugees were given shelter in
the "Dumdama," an often-described
walled enclosure. The Generals and
their staffs and many other officers took
refuge in a barrack, over which a guard
was duly mounted. Piquets, inlying
and outlying, were told off; and every
precaution was taken to prevent the cantonments
being rushed by the "budmashes"
of the "Burra Bazar" or the
Goojars of the neighbouring villages!
As a comic element is never absent
from the most tragic events, I may interpolate
here a little story anent Colonel
Blank. That gallant officer rejoiced in a
long and scanty moustache, which up to
the moment of the Mutiny had retained
the glossy black of youth. A few days
afterwards, an officer who met me asked
me if I had observed the terrible effect
which late events had evidently wrought
on the Colonel. "Poor fellow!" said
he, "his hair has turned perfectly white!"
My irreverent laughter amazed and
shocked him. He little knew that the
blanching of the old gentleman's moustache
was due to his not having had the
time or the presence of mind to bring
with him in his hurried flight from the
mutineers his trusty bottle of hair-dye.
A very few nights after the Generals
and other officers had taken up their
quarters in the barrack already mentioned,
they suffered from a scare which, if
it did not whiten their hair, might easily
have proved a very serious matter to its
innocent cause. This was how it happened.
It must be premised that a
row of beds lined each wall of the long
barrack-room, each bed containing a
General, a staff, or at the least a field
officer, every one of whom reposed his
head on a pillow under which lay a
revolver, while his sword was either resting
on a chair beside him or hanging
on the wall. Outside was a guard of
British soldiers, and in the immediate
vicinity were some fifteen or sixteen
hundred more. Altogether as secure
and well-guarded a dormitory as it is
possible to conceive, and one in which
the most timid and nerve-shaken creature
might placidly entrust himself to
the arms of Morpheus. Not so, thought
one of its warrior occupants. Were
there not three Hindu punkah-coolies in
the verandah, and were not all their lives
at the mercy of these miscreants? It
behoved one at least to remain on the
alert, and, with a watchful eye on the
coolie toiling at the punkah rope at one
end of the room, to safeguard the lives
of all the careless sleepers. He should
be that one! So, ostentatiously snoring,
and pretending to be wrapped in slumber,
he devoted himself to his task. A
couple of hours passed without incident;
but at last his vigilance was justified and
rewarded. The ruffian at the rope who,
while there remained a chance that any
of his proposed victims might be still
awake, had pulled with steady cadence
the heavy punkahs, now began to simulate
slumber, and at intervals to cease
pulling. Evidently this was a deep and
artful ruse to discover if the cessation of
the fanning breeze might, peradventure,
rouse any of the sleepers; but none of
them stirred. The moment for action
had clearly arrived. So the blood-thirsty
coolie coughed a smothered cough once
or twice as a signal to his two confederates
in the verandah; but as no response
came, he prepared to go and personally
warn them. As a precautionary measure,
however, he noiselessly laid down the
rope, and, approaching the nearest sleepers,
bent over them to satisfy himself that
they were really unconscious. As he repeated
this performance over our watchful
friend, whose hair was now standing
on end with horror, he found himself
suddenly clutched in the embrace of a
pair of arms nerved with the strength of
panic fear, while loud shouts of "I've got
him! I've got him!" echoed through the
room. Breathless with excitement, the
bold captor told his thrilling tale, and demanded
that the three villains should be
led to instant execution. He laughed to
scorn the plausible story of his captive,
to the effect that he had been left at the
punkah rope longer than his rightful turn,
that he had coughed to attract the attention
of his "budlee" or relieving coolie,
that on this signal failing he had then
determined to go and fetch him; but dur
ki maree, "the fear of being beaten," had
induced him to make sure, before doing
so, that none of the "sahibs" was likely
to jump up, and, more Anglo-Indico, chastise
him. Fortunately for the wretched
coolie his explanation was accepted, not
without much laughter, and he escaped
the gallows; but nothing could ever
convince his gallant captor that he had
not by his courage and presence of mind
averted a dreadful massacre.
It is really difficult to exaggerate the
demoralisation which at that period
seemed to overcome the nerves of certain
of the more weak-kneed among us.
Every native was to their excited imagination
a "Pandy." My own faithful
bearer, Sheodeen, owed to the natty
twist of his turban and the martial way
in which he habitually curled up his
moustaches, a very close interview with
the hangman. He was, during my absence,
arrested, and would undoubtedly
have been given a short shrift if an
officer who knew him had not sent for
me in hot haste. My earnest advice to
him after that grim experience was to
roll his "puggrie" anyhow, to take the
curl out of his moustaches, to drop his
jaunty swaggering gait, and generally
to look as mean and dirty as possible.
On the night of the 11th an adventure
happened to myself, which at the time
I was rather shy of mentioning, but
which I may now relate. I had taken
it on myself to do a little patrolling on
my own account; and as I was starting
from near the main gate of the "Dumdama,"
I came across a Eurasian Trumpeter
named Murray, of my own regiment.
As he was mounted I asked him
to accompany me. This he did. We had
not gone far before we saw, indistinctly,
through the dusk, what appeared to be a
small group of the rebels, cautiously
creeping towards where a tree, growing
close to the wall, gave them a fair chance
of successfully scaling it. "Will you
stick by me, Murray, and charge them?"
I whispered. "That I will, sir," replied
he: "I will stand by you to the last drop
of my blood." So, drawing our swords,
and moving quietly forward for a few
yards, we suddenly clapped spurs to
our horses and charged—to the bewilderment
and complete demoralisation of
a speckled cow, over whose body we
narrowly escaped "coming to grief," and
who, as soon as she could recover her
senses, dashed off into the darkness.
"Never mind, Murray," said I. "It
might have been the Pandies, you know.
We'll just say nothing about this—yet
a while." Poor fellow! he was killed not
many days afterwards, bravely fighting,
at the Hindun Nuddee.
On the evening of the 15th May the
native Sappers and Miners from Roorkee
marched into Meerut. Next afternoon
it so happened that a small party of the
faithful remnant of the 3rd Light Cavalry,
which was about to proceed under
my command to the support of the civil
authorities in a neighbouring station,
was paraded, mounted, for the General's
inspection, close to the barrack where he
had taken up his quarters, when I heard
the report of a single shot, rapidly followed
by two or three more, from the
direction of the Sapper Camp; and presently
saw that a scene of confusion and
uproar was going on there. A rumour
reached me—how I do not remember—that
the Sappers had mutinied, had killed
Alfred Light, the artillery officer who
afterwards became so distinguished, and
were about to fly into the jungle. Naturally
I lost no time in dismounting and
running in to the barrack to inform
General Hewett, whom I found in the
dishabille of shirt and pyjamas.
While I was making my report to the
bewildered General, Brigadier Archdale
Wilson pushed up to us, buckling on his
sword-belt, and ordered me to mount at
once and follow the Sappers and keep
them in sight till he could come up with
some of the Carabineers and guns. By
this time the Sappers, who, I firmly believe,
had at first no intention whatever
of mutinying, but had been seized by
sudden panic through groundless fear of
an attack by the European troops, were
swarming in flight over the plain, some
in uniform, some in native clothes, but
all armed with their muskets.
The shot which I had heard had been
fired, as I subsequently learnt, by an
Afghan, and had killed the Commanding
Officer, Major Fraser. The action of this
one man compromised all his comrades.
However loyally disposed they might
have been, they must have felt that now
appearances were so fatally against them
that no quarter could be hoped for from
the enraged European troops who surrounded
them; and that instant flight
offered the only slender chance of escape
from destruction.
As my little party galloped after
them I was stopped by an artillery
officer, evidently senior in rank to myself,
who ordered me to halt and asked me
where I was going. I told him that the
Brigadier-General had ordered me to
follow the Sappers who had mutinied
and killed Alfred Light. "That is
hardly possible," he said, "seeing that
I am Alfred Light. These Sappers are
not mutinying at all, but are going with
permission to destroy a neighbouring
village of budmashes. You stop where
you are. I will take the responsibility."
Taken quite aback by all this, I was still
remonstrating with him when the Brigadier-General
rode up, furious with me
for having halted, and ordered me on
again. I was glad to leave Alfred Light
to settle the question of my delay with
him, and dashed on in pursuit. Soon
we overtook about fifty men, who took
refuge in a grove of trees surrounded by
a wall; and there I kept guard over them
till the arrival of the Brigadier-General
with a squadron of Carabineers and some
guns. A few rounds were fired into the
grove, but without much effect, and then
dismounted Carabineers and a number
of officers skirmished into it, and pursued
the Sappers from tree to tree. The poor
fellows fought with the energy of despair.
No quarter was given, and all were destroyed,
except two who were made prisoners
by myself, and who, I believe,
were afterwards retained in the service,
and proved perfectly loyal.
At the close of this affair I noticed
a man who had retreated through the
grove and had taken refuge behind a low
wall on its further side, from which shelter
he betrayed himself by firing at us.
As I rode round the outside of the
enclosure on its left and got in line with
him, a Trooper of the Carabineers appeared
at the opposite end of the wall,
and we both came down on him at full
gallop. The Sapper jumped to his feet
and fixed his bayonet. We reached him
almost at the same moment. As the
Trooper lifted his sword to deliver a
swinging cut the Sapper charged him
with his bayonet and transfixed him
through the breast, with a sickening ripping
sound which still haunts my ears,
while my straining sword arm failed by
an inch to reach and lift the bayonet.
Before he could withdraw the bayonet I
had run him through the body. The
uplifted arm of the Carabineer dropped,
the sword slipped from his grasp, he
reeled for a moment on his saddle, and
then fell to the ground dead.
A correspondent wrote to the Pioneer:—"The
Carabineer who was killed just
outside Meerut in the Sapper Affair was
a Trooper, named Frederick Kingsford,
who rode an untrained horse, which became
unsteady at the time of charging
the rebel. He was the first man killed
in action in the Mutiny, although many
Europeans had fallen before that day."
It was late in the evening when we
returned to cantonments. The destination
of my small party, which was to
have started next morning into the district,
was unexpectedly changed.
A message had been received by
General Hewett from a party of fugitives
from Delhi, who were wandering about in
the jungles near that place, and who implored
that help should be sent to them.
When I heard of this I felt that women
and children could not possibly be left
to their fate among the rebels without
at least an effort being made to save them;
so I went to General Hewett and offered
to attempt the rescue with twenty-five men
of the remnant of my regiment. He
asked if I was in earnest, and told me
that the fugitives had not got far from
Delhi, and that he had considered it
hopeless to send a succouring party.
The letter, which was written in the
French language, had been thrown under
a table, whence I saw it picked up. The
General then gave me permission, and
on the forenoon of the 17th my party
started. On our way out of Meerut we
met Lieutenant Hugh Gough of our regiment
(now Sir H. Gough, V.C., K.C.B.,
commanding the Lahore Division). He
told me that he had just heard of my
having volunteered for this duty, and
that he could not let me go alone. So
he galloped back to get his arms, and
thus, in this most gallant and self-sacrificing
manner, came with me on an errand
which both of us felt pretty sure was to
be our last. We rode all day, expecting
every moment our men to turn on us and
bolt to Delhi. The temptation must have
been very sore to them; for they had
witnessed the extreme demoralisation
which the Mutiny had caused in Meerut;
but providentially they remained staunch.
Only once did we meet with a show of
opposition at a large village, but most
fortunately we thought it probable that
the inhabitants were alarmed at our
French-grey uniforms, and took us for a
party of mutineers on the prowl. So
Gough and I halted the men and rode
on alone. The sight of our white faces
re-assured the villagers, and our explanations
calmed them.
Late in the evening we arrived at the
village of Hirchinpore, where we had ascertained
from people in the fields that
the fugitives were to be found. Again
our light-grey uniforms caused alarm
and confusion. The gate of a walled
enclosure was shut in our faces, and it
was with great difficulty that we got
those inside to believe that we were
friends. At last, on our promising to
leave the men outside, Gough and I were
admitted; and we rode in, not without
suspicion that we might ourselves have
fallen into a trap. We found a very dark
old gentleman called Cohen, the zemindar
of the village, an Orientalised Jew I
think, seated in the doorway with a
gun in his hand, evidently determined in
case of treachery to sell his life dearly.
The fugitives of whom we were in search
had in despair stowed themselves away
in various hiding places, and when they
appeared presented a pitiable spectacle
from the effects of the hardships they
had undergone. All that night we had
to remain there while Cohen's people
collected carts to convey the women and
children. If one of our men or one of
the villagers had bolted and carried to
Delhi the news of what a haul could be
made at Hirchinpore, two or three hours
would have sealed our fate. But again
Providence befriended us, and early next
morning our little caravan started for
Meerut, where we safely arrived that
night, and I had the joy of once more
seeing my Sister, of whom I could not
bear to take leave when I started, and
who had been in ignorance of my having
gone till I was miles on my way. The
following are the names of the ladies and
gentlemen who composed the party of
fugitives:—
| 1. | Colonel Knyvett, | 38th Regiment, N. I. |
| 2. | Lieutenant Salkeld, | Bengal Engineers. |
| | (Died of wounds received at the assault of Delhi). |
| 3. | Lieutenant Wilson, | Bengal Artillery. |
| 4. | " Montague M. Proctor, | 38th N. I. |
| 5. | " H. Gambier, | 38th N. I. |
| | (Died of wounds received at the assault of Delhi). |
| 6. | Captain G. Forrest, V.C. |
| | (Died from the effects of injuries received in the |
| | defence of the Delhi Magazine on 11th May, 1857). |
| 7. | Lieutenant Vibart, | 54th N. I. |
| 8. | Mrs. Forrest. |
| 9. | Mrs. Fraser, | widow of Major Fraser, |
| | who had been killed at |
| | Meerut by the mutineer sappers. |
| 10. | Miss Forrest. |
| 11. | " Annie Forrest. |
| 12. | " Eliza Forrest. |
| 13. | Mr. Marshall | (merchant). |
| 14 & 15. | Two European women whose names I do not know. |
Very glad was I to turn in that might
with the prospect of a good rest, but I
had not been asleep very long before the
late Major Sanford, then a Lieutenant
in my old regiment, and one of the most
gallant gentlemen that ever buckled on
a sword-belt, came and woke me up and
told me that he had volunteered to carry
despatches from General Hewett to the
Commander-in-Chief at Umballa viâ
Kurnal, and that he wanted me to escort
him with my little faithful party. Of
course I agreed, and went off to our
lines, where the already tired men
willingly consented to undertake the
fresh and still more fatiguing and possibly
more dangerous journey. Their
horses were, however, quite knocked up,
so I asked and obtained permission
to select for them twenty-five of the
partially-broken remounts of the Carabineers.
Early in the morning we paraded in
the lightest of light marching order, the
young horses vigorously resenting being
so unceremoniously pressed into the
ranks before passing through Riding
School. For the first few miles there
was not much order in our little column.
The half-broken troopers rearing, buck-jumping
and plunging about, had it
pretty much their own way; but before
night they were quiet enough. All day
we marched, and all night, and all next
day, halting for an hour or so at a time,
when a wayside well enabled us to water
the horses. We requisitioned feeds of
grain for them and of chuppatis for ourselves
as we went along, duly giving
receipts for them. En route we made a
long detour off the road to a district
where we had been ordered to go in
search of baggage-camels, which we were
to have seized if we had found them; but
they had departed. On the second day
we met the late gallant Major (then
Lieutenant) Hodson who, escorted by a
party of the Jhind Horse, had started on
his ride to Meerut with despatches from
General Anson to General Hewett, and
who was to return with despatches from
the latter to Army Head-Quarters. So
unexpected was this meeting that at first
each party took the other for "moofsids,"
as we used in those days to designate
the rebels; but we soon discovered our
mistake. Hodson was naturally much
relieved to find that the road in front of
him was open, though doubtless disappointed
that his errand was forestalled.
The reader, who has read of Hodson's
famous ride to Meerut, and who has not
to this moment ever heard that it was
anticipated by others, will probably be
surprised by this narration, but nevertheless
it is simply true. The credit of
carrying the first despatches from Meerut
to Umballa is due to the late Major Sanford,
who, to me and to all who knew
him, was a type of all that is most noble
and brave and modest; but alas! his
memory is buried in our hearts. The
world has heard little of him.
In the evening we arrived at Kurnal,
having traversed in less than thirty-six
hours more than ninety miles: for the
straight road between Meerut and Kurnal
is seventy-six, and our fruitless detour
after the camels took us many more
miles. Sanford at once went on by dâk
to Umballa and delivered his despatches
to General Anson. He eventually got
command of the cavalry of the guide
corps before Delhi, and retained it till
the close of the siege.
My small party was not then sent back
to Meerut, but moved down towards
Delhi with the advanced body of troops,
making itself useful in collecting supplies
and scouting. On the road we
succeeded in capturing several miscreants
who had committed murderous outrages
on our unfortunate countrymen
and women while trying to effect their
escape from Delhi. They were given
the benefit of a fair trial; and those who
were found guilty were duly hanged.
One of these wretches who had been
tried and sentenced one afternoon was
subsequently confined till sunset—the
usual hour for executions—in the guard
tent of the 1st Bengal Fusiliers, which
happened on that occasion to contain
another tenant, an Irish soldier who had
been drinking, "not wisely but too well."
When the Provost Marshal's party came
in the evening for the condemned criminal
they found him in a sorry plight.
The half-sober Irishman begged that
they would not take him away. "Bedad,"
said he, "he has been the most
divarting companion I iver had." The
"divarsion" had been perhaps a little
one-sided.
One evening, shortly before the force
reached Alipore, I was suddenly ordered
to take my party back to Meerut viâ
Bagput, for the General expected an
engagement, and evidently felt uncertain
as to whether my men were to be trusted
under such trying circumstances as an
actual fight against their old comrades.
Previously to this poor General Anson
had died, worn out by anxiety and fatigue,
and General Barnard was in command.
Accompanied by the Adjutant-General,
Colonel Chester, and by his
Interpreter, Captain Howell, he inspected
my little party on parade, and after
praising its conduct in the highest terms,
informed us that he would give each
native member of it a step of substantive
rank for each of the two expeditions
in which they had shared. He then told
them that in a short time he expected to
engage the rebels, and that, though he
had no doubt of their loyalty, he was
unwilling to take them into action
against men who so lately had been
their comrades, of their own race and
religions, and that therefore he had decided
to send them back to Meerut. The
whole of them implored to be allowed to
remain and to prove their loyalty in the
field; but the General was not to be turned
from his decision. He was evidently
much moved, and for a moment I hoped
that he was wavering; but presently he
turned away; and with deep disappointment
I felt that there was nothing for it
but to turn our horses' heads to the east
and make for the ferry at Bagput. Before
General Barnard could carry out his
promise he fell a victim to cholera.
Colonel Chester was killed in action, and
Captain Howell also died—I think from
that scourge of the camp—cholera. Thus
was left on my shoulders the whole onus
of securing to my men the fulfilment of
the General's promise—a task in which,
after much trouble and delay, I was happily
eventually successful.
To march off the ground and out of
camp no preparations were needed, for
we were without camp equipage of any
kind whatever. It must be remembered
that all this took place in the middle of
the hot weather, before the rains; so that
it was no hardship to sleep in the open
air on the ground beside our horses, who
also required no blankets. Except our
horses, their saddles and bridles and
our arms, and the clothes on our backs,
we possessed literally nothing in the
world.
It was not long, therefore, before we
had put a good distance between ourselves
and our late comrades. When
dawn broke we found ourselves debouching
from a grove of trees on to a plain,
at the further side of which was the river
and the bridge-of-boats with the village
of Bagput on the opposite bank; but to
our horror the bridge was occupied by a
strong body of apparently rebel troops,
whom our appearance threw into sudden
commotion. We could see infantry
rapidly falling in, troopers mounting in
hot haste, and camels and elephants
rushing to the bridge, flying from our
expected onslaught. Scant time was
there to decide on a course of action.
With our tired horses escape from so
strong a body of cavalry was hopeless.
Nothing was left but to charge the bridge
and trust to luck and the rapidity of our
attack to disconcert the enemy, and
enable some at least of us to get through
with whole skins. These were the days
of drilling by "threes;" but as I judged
that there would be room for four men
abreast on the bridge, I formed my party
as quickly as possible into what would
now be called a column of sections of
fours, and moved down the slope on to
the plain at a gallop, increasing our pace
as we approached the bridge. To my
delight and surprise the enemy seemed
quite demoralised and in confusion,
and I was beginning to feel sure of
a successful rush through them, when I
was startled by the apparition of a white
face peering at me from behind a mass
of stones, and the shout of an English
voice yelling at me to halt. Never was
man more relieved and pleased to be out
of a frightful scrape. In another second
I had halted my party and had ridden
across the bridge and was talking to ——,
an officer who informed me that he had
been sent with a strong body of the Raja
of Jhind's troops to occupy the bridge
and hold it till further orders; but he
said that he was not going to stay any
longer. The place was a great deal too
near Delhi and too liable to sudden
attack to please him, and the fright he
had got from the sudden appearance of
my small party had put the finishing
touch to his resolution. He said that
our French-grey uniforms and the swiftness
of our attack had convinced him
that we were the advanced party of a
large body of the enemy, and he had
given himself up for lost. At any
rate he had had enough of Bagput and
meant to be off at once. In vain I implored
him to defer his departure till the
evening, pointing out that my horses
were quite done up, and that we would
be obliged to stop there for some hours to
rest and feed. Nothing would move him,
and there and then he marched off, bag
and baggage, and left us to our own devices.
We could plainly hear the guns
of a fight, which must have been that at
the Hindun Nuddee; and, tired as we
were, rest was impossible. In the afternoon
we moved on, and next morning
marched into Meerut without further
misadventure.
